


Hungry For a Taste

by JaneDavitt



Series: Alligator [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, Established Relationship, M/M, Nipple Clamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/pseuds/JaneDavitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This originally appeared in Please Don't Feed the Alligators, a collection of flash fics published for free by Torquere, centered around the prompt in the title.</p><p>This was my contribution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hungry For a Taste

I eye the three clamps as I polish them dry. Vicious beasts. They have teeth, damn it, and when they close around flesh the bite will be as savage as the pressure from that tight spring. Double whammy. My stomach lurches, anticipating it. They’re huge.

Making me sterilize them, dry them, then buff them to a high sheen is cruel. I point this out and my Dom chuckles, watching me work, naked, kneeling, and tells me I’m looking at it the wrong way; that they’re going on my body and I deserve only the best.

He’s the first Dom I’ve had who never makes me feel less for submitting. He adores me. Praises me. Cherishes me.

And he hurts me with an implacable intensity that has me on my knees to him 24/7 inside my head, even when we’re at work and I’m the one giving him orders. When I beg for mercy it’s never with any hope of receiving it. I beg because it pleases him to see me grovel and arouses him to turn me down.

He’s a sadist. I don’t fear him, never could, but I worry sometimes I can’t match his desire to inflict pain with an equal need to receive it. Lying about my limits is forbidden. He knows I want to make him happy, no matter what the cost. He doesn’t quite trust me to tell him when he’s gone too far. We’re working on it.

The clamps might be a good way to show him I can say no if needed. They’re sharp and shiny and they scare the hell out of me. I love the supple thrash of leather or the spring of a cane, but these…

I shudder and break position, hunched over, knees pressed together instead of split wide. The clamps fall to the carpet, the polishing cloth damp against my palm until I drop it too.

He kneels beside me, making me show my shamed face by tugging hard on my hair. I whine as he draws his fingers over the taut line of my throat. 

“You’ll take the clamps,” he tells me with calm certainty. “I know how long they can stay on you safely. I’ll take you to that limit.” I shake my head the small amount his grip allows. He smiles fondly and pinches my earlobe. “You don’t know how much you want this. Your cock’s like iron, has been the whole time. And if you’d controlled yourself better, I might have let you come. Not now. So you’ll endure this terrible torment for no other reason than to please me. Isn’t that sweet of you?”

Tears trickle down my face as he teases me. He doesn’t let me come often. I’m learning to take my pleasure from his, to plead not for a climax but permission to watch his face as an orgasm shapes it. Or to taste his come, not clean it from his skin. Sometimes, like today, it’s not enough. I sob, chest heaving, and he frowns.

Control. I fight for it, groping through my disappointment and shame. When I swallow back the next sob and lower my eyes instead of glaring at him, I know I’ve found it.

He releases my hair and kisses me, biting my lip so it’s like everything he gives me, a mix of tenderness and pain. “Why do they frighten you?”

“They’re…hungry.”

He nods. “For your pain.” He picks one up, weighing it in his hand. “Let’s feed them.”

I could use my word. Spare myself. Fuck, where will he put them?

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper and spread my knees wide, arch my back. I offer myself up for him to torture and do it with heat burning through me, taking away the fear and the worries of the day.

Three clips. The first snaps at my stomach and my heartbeat quickens as I hiss out a breath. Jesus. Hurts. Hurts. I get the message. There’s softness where there should be muscle. I’m not working out as much as he’d like. The second he brushes over one nipple, then the next, before settling in to torment me, closing the clamp around each hard peak for an instant, then opening it so the pain flashes through me without finding a home. Over and over, varying his target so one nipple stays untouched for a while and the agony builds in the other, then settling into a back and forth rhythm that lulls me into the beginning of acceptance, submission.

Then he opens it wide, a gaping, saw-toothed mouth and closes it with infinite care, because my pain matters to him, it’s important, around my cock, capturing the shaft. Not a pinch, a single focused pain, but a dozen pressure points, agony flaring. 

He catches me in his arms as I sway, sweat breaking out on my skin even as I shiver. Hot. Cold. I can’t process anything but the pain chewing at my control. And yet…it’s not terrible. I’ve had worse. And I sigh, release my breath and smile at him, waiting for the third.

This one will make me scream, I know it. I wait for it to rip from my throat at his nod, for the pleasure to darken his eyes as he watches me suffer.

He gathers my hair – needs trimming – in his hand and the third alligator clamp locks around the sweat-damp strands.

Startled, I stare at him, mouth parted. That’s it? 

He smiles, removes the clamp from my stomach and attaches it to my ass. I feel the bruise forming within seconds, a ripe, rich swell of pain. And this isn’t going to be three clamps, three bites, soon over. This is going to carry on until I’m bruised and marked everywhere that won’t show.

Until hunger becomes satiation and my screams fill every empty, waiting place in him.

And me. I’m hungry too.


End file.
